John Marston, Monster Slayer
by motordog
Summary: This is an AU version of Red Dead Redemption, set in a "weird Western", supernatural version of New Austin. My first fanfic!
1. Preview: Flowers for a Dead Lady

_This is an AU version of Red Dead Redemption, set in a "weird west", supernatural version of New Austin. I don't really consider this the beginning of the story, but more of a "random encounter" that can be interjected anywhere once I start the main story (roughly conforming to the plot of the game, but with a few interesting changes, of course). I may end up with a few OC's but I'm going to try to stick with alternate versions of actual game characters, where possible. Some won't be much different at all. I might also eventually go to a Mature rating, depending on how the story progresses. Anyways, my first fan fic! _

_So, consider this a short preview, if you will...hope you all like it. _

* * *

Marston returned to Billy's cabin just after the sun slipped under the Western horizon. In the darkening twilight, the old timer could be seen halfheartedly sweeping the rickety porch of his weathered old cabin. He smiled as he noticed John walking up the path, a bouquet of feverfew and sage clutched in his hand.

"Here's your flowers, Billy."

"Well, thank you. Not many around these parts would help an old man with such a task" Billy replied, putting the broom aside and gladly taking the offered flowers. "Thanks again, stranger...come on in and have some tea with me and Annabelle. I'm sure she'd love the company."

"Alright, maybe just for a minute," John said, following Billy inside.

The interior was dimly lit by a single lantern. The air in the cabin was sour, carrying the gamey smell of old death. Instantly, John tensed up, his hand half reaching for his shotgun as he quickly scanned the room.

"This is my...other half, the lovely Annabelle," Billy proudly indicated the primary source of the foul odor. A semi-desiccated corpse of a woman, wearing a simple, blue dress, lay slumped in an old rocking chair in the corner. Its shriveled, empty sockets stared blankley upward from a sunken, gray face, and its mummified hands lay in its lap.

"Much obliged," Marston croaked out, looking over at Billy. Clearly, the glow he saw in Billy's eyes, the glow he mistook for love, was just madness...or perhaps love mixed with madness. Either way, the man's mind was clearly long gone.

"This is the man that helped me find these lovely flowers, Annabelle." Billy continued, holding up the bouquet.

Just then, John noticed something that sent a familiar chill down his spine...unmistakably, Annabelle's head _moved_. The cadaver's head swiveled down to look at the flowers Billy was holding, then it moved its hollow, dead gaze over to look right at John. Annabelle cocked her head to the side and gasped out a dry, rattling hiss. John took a step back as she slowly leaned forward, creaking audibly as she struggled to her feet. A cloud of flies, disturbed from their rest, buzzed around her as she stood.

"Not half as lovely as _you_!" poor Mad Billy chuckled, holding out his arm to his corpse-wife, as happy as any newlywed.

The shambling horror that was once Billy's wife pushed her husband aside with her right arm. Her other arm reached out towards Marston as she began lurching forward. Her fingers cracked as they clutched the empty air, and her jaw clacked her remaining teeth together. A few mice scurried out from under her skirt.

"I should have known...God damn _zombies_..._again_!" John muttered as he pulled out his sawed-off shotgun.

Anyone outside in the purple shadows would have heard two loud shotgun blasts, the windows of the cabin flashing brightly in time with each shot. A moment later, the door swung open and Marston walked out onto the porch, his shotgun across his shoulder and a few plundered dollars in his pocket. He paused for moment, then turned and looked back inside the cabin.

"I'm sorry for your loss...uh, I guess for _both_ of your loses. My apologies...oh, and happy anniversary."

An orange glow lighted his path as he stepped off the porch. The dry wood of the cabin caught fire quickly, and John watched it crackle and burn for a few minutes before turning his back. By morning, only ashes would remain...ashes and dust. Whistling for his horse, John walked up the trail to the road. He was glad the clean night breeze blew away the stench of death and tang of gunpowder and smoke, even if just for the moment. Perhaps he would have to add feverfew and sage to the list of smells he'd rather avoid.


	2. A Dark Meeting

Few who walked the streets of this wealthy part of the city could have guessed that below their feet a fell and eldritch ritual was talking place. The catacombs and passages that led to the secret ritual chamber were as old as the first settlers...a few even much older... though only a few of the elite knew they existed. The voices of the seven robed and masked men that met there this night echoed eerily through the stone passageways as they intoned their dark enchantment.

_Kattum ili-ia eli uttu-ru ilani salalu_

_Ipshetusha malla-a iqbu-u qi-ishrusha_

_Ina qibit iqbu-u ilani iprusu taru_

_Amat amat amatusha kal akati-ra!_

As they chanted, six of them made a complex series of mystical hand signs, while the seventh, wearing a ram-like mask that fully covered his head, held an ornate jeweled dagger under the throat of a young woman. He held up her head with a fistful of her dark blonde hair gripped tightly in his other hand. She appeared to be in some kind of trance, for she did not struggle. No doubt, she was some strumpet taken from the docks; no one would miss her...at least no one that mattered.

As the chanting reached its seventh iteration, the man in the ram drew the knife across the hapless girl's throat, ending her life and completing the ritual. As her blood flowed from her twitching body, it was absorbed into the arcane sigils and patterns carved into the stone floor.

"There...let's see that bastard try to scry on us now!" laughed the man in a frog mask. "Thinks he's so much better than us! I always hated the smug son of a bitch!"

"Unfortunately, Balthus, just blocking his eyes does little to neutralize him as a _threat_," said the ram mask, tersely. "Van der Linde is both a powerful magus, and a cold-blooded murderer. Do you have any idea how many men...dangerous men...he's killed with just his two hands alone?"

"Of course, Nephilos, of course...and thank you for allowing me to attend tonight, sir! It's quite an honor!" Balthus, the frog mask, replied. All of the men here used magical pseudonyms with each other, especially when performing any craft.

"We needed a seventh," Nephilus spat.

Turning, Nephilus regarded another of his companions; a rooster masked, stocky man who couldn't stop looking at the body of the girl. "Paracelsus, you never seem to get use to this part of the work. We are in some serious _shit_ here...it could mean the end of the world if we keep screwing up! I need to know your going to be reliable in the coming ordeal...I need to know you're _ALL_ going to be reliable!"

"I...I'm fine, I'm...fine. Please, I know what needs to be done. We all do, I assure you," Paracelsus stammered.

Nephilos grunted, then turned and led the others to a wood-paneled, richly appointed chamber just down from the ritual room. A heavy mahogany table took up the center of the room, and seven large, leather chairs were spaced evenly around it. Several large, tiffany chandeliers warmly lit the room. Nephilos remained standing as the others took their seats.

"Balthus, I need you to go to New Austin. Take your man, Fordham, with you, and a few of the boys. I think we've found our cat's paw."

"So, you've decided to enlist the aid of Mr. Marston, after all?" drawled a laconic voice from behind a mask of golden oak leaves.

"The Oracle said only the '_Former Forsaken Son_' had any chance of stopping him. Don't tell me you haven't cast Marston's horoscope yet, yourself. Need I say, all signs point to Marston being our last, best hope."

"How do you plan on convincing him?" Paracelsus inquired, "do you even know where he is?"

"Oh, yes...not far from your old stomping grounds, my dear Paracelsus. Seems he's been living the quiet life out on Great Plains, a bit west of Black Water. As for convincing, well...he made the unfortunate decision to have himself a little family. I think, once they are in our custody, Mr. Marston will be more than happy to come see us. Then, we'll see what other insurance we can come up with.

"That brings me back to you, Balthus. Our men in Black Water will meet you at the boat and escort you to the Marston ranch. Wait until he has left the premises, then go get his wife and boy. Don't hurt them...yet...just subdue them and send them here for safe keeping. Then, corner our 'Forsaken Son' and try your best to make him see reason. This is an important mission, Balthus...screw it up and I promise you a rapid and most spectacular death."

Balthus gulped and got to his feet. "No need to worry, sir. Marston is as good as here." He quickly left the room and disappeared down the torch-lined corridor.

"I'm sure he can manage," Saraphel, the oak mask, said to no one in particular. It was difficult to tell if he was serious or sarcastic, but then it always was. Nephilos just grunted once more.

"Speaking of the Oracle," Saraphel continued, turning to face Nephilos as the rest of the magi filed out of the room, "how _is_ the lovely Mrs. Johns?"

"Drugged out of her mind and locked in a closet, like any good wife should be." Nephilos said, grinning behind his mask and clapping his hand on his associates shoulder.


	3. Making a Deal

Pain shot through John's shoulders as he regained consciousness. Some sort of cloth bag seemed to be over his face, and his hands were being forced over his head, holding him up on his toes. The clinking as he shook his arms confirmed that he was locked into some sort of chain and manacle setup.

He shook his head and tried to come out of the mental fog. He last remembered returning home late after picking up some supplies at Manzanita Post. Some strangers were at the house, which was odd, especially at that time of night. Quickly they made it clear that Abigail, Jack and even Uncle were in their custody, and that Jack had better surrender peacefully if he didn't wish them to come to harm. Though enraged, he realized he had no choice but to go with them, back to Blackwater. They traveled on a riverboat, then his memory trailed off. A voice suddenly spoke.

"I'm so sorry about the anesthetic and restraints, Mr. Marston, but I have learned to be a much more _cautious_ man of late. I do not wish you to remember where you were taken tonight, and my own identity will remain obscured."

The hood over John's face was then pulled off, causing him to blink and grimace at the sudden bright light. A small spotlight was trained on John, which caused him to be well illuminated, but hid anyone else present in shadows. He was, indeed, shackled by chains, to beams in the ceiling, shirtless.

"What the Hell's going _on_ here! Who _are_ you people! Turn me loose and give me my family back, you fuckin' _sons of bitches_!" John pulled futilely on the chains and tried to see the figures beyond the light.

A man in a judge-like robe and ram mask took a few steps towards John, coming into his line of sight. He regarded his prisoner for a moment, then continued in the voice that had just been speaking.

"Mr. Marston, please forgive my failings as a host, but I _really_ need you to listen to me right now."

Marston spat in response, hitting the man's shoes. Another man, this one in a frog mask, came up from behind John and punched him hard in the side...he thought he felt a few ribs crack.

The ram walked up and grabbed John's chin, holding his face up, and continued.

"I need you to understand that I hold the welfare of your family...their very _lives_, if you will, in my hands. I am not a man accustom to asking or requesting, so you must also realize how_ tenuous _my goodwill can be. I am a shockingly _cruel_ man, I assure you. I'm sure you're already telling yourself that I can't be trusted. That even if you cooperate, I probably won't keep my word? Well, you're wise to be suspicious, my friend. Still, it's the only chance you've got, you _stinking_ piece of outlaw trash."

"What do you _want_ from me?" John said through clenched teeth, still gasping from the punch to his side.

"Bully! John, you remember your good friend _Bill Williamson_? Violent little sociopath from your days running with one Dutch Van der Linde?" Ram asked, though it clearly wasn't meant as a question, but a declaration. "Well, we need you to go out and round him up for us, John. Williamson's rapidly built himself up a rather powerful gang of thugs and malefactors. We feel that your knowledge of how he ticks could prove just the trick for dislodging that parasite from New Austin. How about it, Mr. Marston...want to be one of the '_good guys_'?" Ram put his hands out and to the sides, like a statue of the Savior.

"You'll...you'll leave me and mine alone if I do?" John growled warily as he glared at the man before him.

"You have a very good chance of it, Mr. Marston. If I can give you no hope, then pride, despair or rage will cause you to foil my plans. If I need you in the future, then keeping my word is of paramount tactical importance, wouldn't you say...of _course_ you would. Is that a 'yes' then, my boy?"

"Yeah...I'll get Williamson...I'll _do_ what you want."

"Capital! Now, just to seal the deal, as it were!"

"Seal the deal? What do you _mean_?" John said with some trepidation.

A large man wearing a fish mask stepped forward, holding what appeared to be a black branding iron. A man in a rooster mask appeared from behind the ram, he seemed nervous, even under his mask.

"N-Nephilos, do you really think this is _necessary_?" the rooster loudly whispered, "I mean, I think we can take him at his word...he...he seems an honorable chap, doesn't he?"

"Yeah!" John shouted, "Listen to the chicken!"

"When I want you're opinion, Paracelsus, I'll torture it out of you...now go mix some fucking potions or something...get out of my sight!" the ram, Nephilos, barked back.

"You are **_NOT_** going to fuckin' _BRAND_ me! What the Hell's _with_ you sick bastards, anyways? Get that away from me or _so help me_..."

"Don't be tedious, Mr. Marston. You aren't going to do anything. Simmer down and just cooperate, will you? This is no ordinary 'branding iron'...this device will mark you with a geas. It will bind your soul and life to your word. If you betray us, your heart will burst in your chest. In addition, this will help us to keep track of your movements. Scrying into New Austin has become too dangerous of late, but this small effect should escape any notice. At least we'll know where you are and if your alive or not. It's even of benefit to you; it will help hide you from those who might sense your approach."

"Geas? Scry? Bind my soul? You're all batshit crazy! But I guess you'll do what you're gonna do no matter what I say. Let's get this over with, then."

"Very brave, Mr. Marston...I'm afraid that this will hurt like the _dickens_, so please brace yourself."

The metal began to burn a bright blue, all by itself, as Nephilos stepped behind John. Lifting up the iron in both hands over his head, he slamed the glowing end against John's back, just between and below the shoulders. To his credit, John didn't cry out, though he did lose consciousness after a few seconds.

Nephilos regarded his prisoner, hanging limply in his chains, then motioned for his men to take him down. A dark, ominous glyph now marked his skin, more like a tattoo than a branding. The flunkies placed John's body on a stretcher, and began hauling him out the door.

"Clean him up, give him any doctorin' he might need, and get him dressed. After he's rested for a day, I want him on the morning boat bound for Blackwater. Balthus, you take him back and get him on a train to Armadillo. If he can take out Williamson, then we'll have him go after Van der Linde. With all the shit that's been popping up in New Austin the last few months, he's going to need the practice.

"Now, If you'll excuse me, I must prepare for dinner with the Senator."

* * *

_Thanks for the reviews! They're always fun to get, so I guess I'll have to give out more, myself. I'm not sure how "complete" I'm going to be. I see this version of New Austin being pretty similar to the game version. It's not like witches are hitching up flying brooms, nor do the stores stock werewolf repellant. The supernatural elements will be dramatic and dangerous, but not something the average citizen sees every day. Still, they'll have good reason to be superstitious or especially devout. If I skip over something from the game (such as a side mission or minor cut scene), then just assume that this story progressed close enough to the game story that it didn't need mentioning. _


	4. Welcome to Armadillo

"_Extra_! **_Extra_**! 'Blackwater Slasher' claims _third_ victim! Lurid details revealed!" a newsboy hawked his papers to the disembarking passengers.

John Marston walked down the ramp onto the pier in Blackwater. The two "government men", Ross and Fordham, flanked him as they made their way to Blackwater Station. Marston noticed how empty the streets looked.

"What day is this...Sunday? Where is everyone?"

"Tuesday, you moron," Ross grumbled, "And I assume many of the good folk of Blackwater are seeking what safety they can find...behind locked doors or perhaps kneeling in church. Don't tell me that you haven't felt something over the past few months? Sure, New Austin has always been a little _odd_...full of local color, superstition and legends. Even _I've_ seen some shit I can't explain, but not like this...this is _different_.

"There's a malevolence that's stirring, Marston. Maybe Judgment Day...maybe the stars are finally right...crazy badness is coming, mark my words. I'd be vigilant, if I were you. Williamson may end up being the _least_ of your worries, though I wouldn't recommend taking too long with that little chore, either. It could be bad for your heart." Ross laughed gruffly and slapped John on the back, right on the geas mark.

The ride into Armadillo was uneventful. John half listened to the conversations of his fellow travelers. Two old biddies behind him kept up a near constant scathing dismissal of just about every topic they could think off. A man of God in the seat ahead appeared to be providing spiritual guidance to the young woman beside him. John had never had much use for "men of God", himself. Some of the biggest liars and thieves he'd ever met had hid behind a Bible. The two biddies had changed their topic of discussion to Spiritualism.

"Do we really have to go all the way to _Armadillo_ for this session, Mrs. Ditkiss? It's so dusty and, frankly, a bit dangerous?" said the lady on the aisle.

"Don't I know it, Mrs. Bush, but Mrs..._um_, I mean _Madame_ Frigozi lives all the way out in Rathskeller's Fork. Seems Armadillo is the closest East she's willing to come for the séance. I guess we should feel fortunate that we don't have to take a stagecoach all the way out there. I hear she's really good, too...we're lucky to get her. She get's excellent results with a ouija board, or so I am told. Mrs. Carver and Mrs. Gaines will be there already. They left last night to stay with Mrs. Carver's son. I'm a little put off that we have to meet in the back room of a common _saloon_, though. Civilization and culture cannot come to this land fast enough for me!"

"Aren't we running a bit late, Mrs. Ditkiss? It's nearly noon, and I thought that we were supposed to start by then?" Mrs. Bush fretted. She seemed to end every statement with a questionmark.

"Oh, indeed...I wouldn't even be surprised if they've started without us. I'm sure the 'Widow' Carver will once again try to reach her husband. _Humph_...If you ask me, he's not even deceased, just ran off with that secretary of his. I warned the stupid woman to not allow her husband a female secretary."

Both ladies cackled and continued to cluck and sniff about this and that.

One other passenger caught John's eye...a handsome young woman who looked more rancher than fine lady, but she wore it well. The woman locked eyes with him as she walked up the aisle of the train. She sat down near the front, then glanced over her shoulder at him with a concerned frown. John simply nodded to the woman, which caused her frown to deepen a bit...she then turned back around and ignored him for the rest of the trip.

The sky was heavy and gray as the train pulled into the station at Armadillo. A few raindrops started to fall.

"Well, here we are, Mrs. Bush..._Armadillo_."

After leaving the train, John walked through the small station and made his way to the local saloon. Ross had told him he would meet up with a man named Jake, who would lead him up to the last known location of Williamson. Before entering, he lit a cigarette, leaned against a post, and took a moment to look up and down the muddy street that ran through town. The place was small, but seemed to be doing well for itself. He heard they even had a place that showed those moving picture shows. With a final puff, he flung his cigarette butt into the street and turned to go inside. The swinging doors of the saloon creaked audibly above the ragtime music being banged out on the slightly out-of-tune upright piano.

"Mr. Marston? Mr._ Marston_! Over here!"

The call came from a grizzled old coot over on a couch, who...with a look of regret...shooed away the young working girl in front of him and waved John on over.

"You must be John Marston," the old man said.

"Sometimes..."

"I'm Jake...your friends from Blackwater hired me ta' guide ya'."

"They ain't my friends, but pleased to meet you Jake."

"I got the horses saddled up an' ready out front."

As the two men turned to leave, every piece of glass in the place...window panes, shot glasses, bottles, even a man's spectacles...cracked or shattered. A piercing scream rang out from somewhere behind the bar, and a well dressed, clearly terrified older woman ran out through a door. Her eyes were wide and mad with fear.

"_HELP_! _It's **HORRIBLE**_! Madame _Frigozi_..."

...and with that, the woman promptly fainted. The sky outside turned as black as night, and a foul stench suddenly blew through the saloon on a cold wind. Without even thinking, John bolted for the back room, hand on his pistol. The barkeeper and a couple of other men followed.

Through the door, John saw Mrs. Ditkiss...from the train...standing in the doorway of a second room, her back turned towards him. An eerie, bluish-green light streamed out of the room. Another woman, who John didn't recognize, stumbled out of the room as well. She fell to her knees and clutched John's hand.

"I was looking for my _husband_! Oh, _God_...she was contacting my poor Louis...but **_THAT'S_** not _Louis_! Louis wouldn't _float_ in the air! _Louis wouldn't **flay** poor Mrs. Bush_!" The woman collapsed on to the floor, blubbering and cowering.

John continued to the doorway, pushed the silent Mrs. Ditkiss aside, and glanced into the room. Hell looked back at him.

A pale-skinned woman, presumably Madame Frigozi, was floating up near the ceiling, thrashing and howling. Her face was twisted in rage and...something else. Her mouth seemed to open way too wide, and was full of sharp, pointy teeth. Her lips, gums and eye sockets were very dark, but her eyes were solid white. Her gray hair, once in a prim bun, was floating around her face as if she were underwater. In one claw-like hand, she gripped what appeared to be a skinless human corpse by the throat. Gore was dripping down like rain from the mutilated body, sprinkling the floor and lower walls. With her other hand, she threw down to the floor what must have been the flayed skin and shredded clothes of the poor woman. John could still make out Mrs. Bush's features in the mask-like skin of the face...mouth open and eyes empty.

"_Holy **SHIT**_!" the bartender gasped, as he brought up his shot gun and began firing up at the monstrosity. The blasts seemed to hit...one of her legs hung limply from a few tendons, and a large, wet hole appeared in her chest...but the abomination just grinned at the shooter and flung the body of her victim across the room. It hit the bartender square in the chest, knocking him down to the floor. He shrieked in terror as he tried to crawl backwards as fast as he could, pushing at the grisly weight laying on top of him. All the blood that covered him made it quite slippery. Another man dropped to his knees and began loudly praying.

"**_FOOLS_**! _Free we are now_! _Free to take our pleasures in this realm_! _The doors are open_! _Your useless weapons and meager faith will not stop the advance_! _**Nekoti **stirs...and seeks to feed once more_! _Greet your once and future master and **despair**, for Nekoti draws nigh_!" When it spoke, it's voice sounded like several people speaking in unison, simultaneously a deep growl and a shrill, keening whine. The sound made the back of John's eyes itch and brought bile to his throat.

The creature flung itself through the air, latching onto the throat of the man praying. His scream was cut short as his head neatly popped off of his shoulders. Blood pumped up out of the stump, and the monster placed it's wide mouth over the stump and gulped greedily.

While the other men either screamed in sheer panic or ran, John noticed something on the floor. A board of thin wood, upon which were painted letters and numbers. The board looked warped, even slightly out of focus, and felt very wrong in his hands when he impulsively picked it up. It hummed in his grip like a hive full of bees.

"Hey! You ugly _bitch_! Is _this_ something you need?" John shouted at the monster. It turned its head around on its shoulders, like an owl, and stared at John. When it saw what he was holding, it dropped the headless corpse and made the loudest scream yet.

It once again rose up into the air, and held its claws out towards John. Before it had a chance to spring upon him, John took the ouija board and smashed it against the edge of the table. The thin wood broke into flinders, and instantly the very dead body of Madame Frigozi fell unceremoniously to the sticky, red floor.

For a few moments, John just struggled to catch his breath and make some sense of what he had just witnessed. His heart raced in his chest...crazy badness, _indeed_. Only Mrs. Ditkiss was still present, still standing in the doorway. Her jaw was slack and her stare was utterly blank...a bit of drool hung from her chin.

"Pardon me, Mame," John said quietly as he pushed past her. Unbeknownst to John, Mrs. Ditkiss would spend the rest of her days in this catatonic state, occasionally silently crying tears of blood. In the main saloon area, only Jake was left.

"Mr. Marston...we'd better go, now. We don't need to draw _undue_ attention."

John just glared sideways at him as the two men went outside to find their horses and ride to Fort Mercer.


	5. A Friend in Fort Mercer

"So, it's_ Fort Mercer _ya' want to visit?" Jake asked, as they sat on their horses, waiting for the train to pass.

"That's right."

"Ain't taken nobody up to the Fort in a_ looong _time. Strange place for a decent fella to want to visit...if ya' don't mind me sayin'."

"Who said I was a _decent_ fella?"

"It's been abandoned for years, now. Folks say it was built during the Mexican War. All kinds a soldier around back then."

"Why'd they leave?"

"Oh, they didn't leave! One morning, the locals find the Fort gate open, and every single soldier inside dead! Not just dead, but torn limb from limb...horses, too! The official story is that some mad cougars got in durin' the night...and I gotta admit, there sure _are_ a surprisin' number of cougar up there...but I hear others say no way cougars could have done it. The army hushed everythin' up, an' the Fort was boarded up an' forgotten. All the locals are still too spooked to poke around up there...can't say I blame 'em. What with all the dead _bodies_ turnin' up around there."

"Dead bodies?"

"Sure...some of 'em are bound to be the work of those cougars, of course. Still, in any given month they might lose one person...two at the most. Last month, eight bodies were found, and three other folks went missin'. It seems to be worst 'round the full moon."

"If it's so dangerous, then why'd you agree to bring me?" John asked.

Jake chuckled. "Well, it's simple, Mr. Marston. You're ridin' with a _dead man_...got a _cancer_ in my gut, so I'm probably not going to see out the year. Hurts to stand now, as it is. Can't really get any other kind a' work, an' booze, opium an' companionship costs money! I'm getting a pretty good payday out of this, seein' as how no one else would do it."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Ahh...they's all scared, is all. Don't worry, I really know my way around these parts" Jake replied.

"No, I meant about your..._illness_" John started, then looked over and saw Jake laughing at him.

"I'm just chewin' the dog, mister...it's how I _am_!"

They rode a bit longer. John rebuffed a few of Jake's casual attempts at discerning the reason for this strange and dangerous trip, then Jake discussed the quality of the local whores. John couldn't help but notice how many coyotes he kept seeing, and made mention of it to Jake.

"_Damn coyotes_! What a waste of good meat! Yeah...just in the last year or so, seems we've been having a lot more coyot's, wolves, vultures...cougars...more than I've seen ever before, anyways. Wonder why that is? Over at Two Crows, a couple of boys shot down 35 wolves at one time! Claim they couldn't skin them fast enough to shoot the new ones running in!

"Almost there, Mr. Marston...just over this hill."

As they crested the indicated hill, the clouds finally began to part, and orange-red sunlight streamed down onto the squat, blocky presence of Fort Mercer.

"Listen, mister," Jake said in a low voice as they approached closer. "This here's what's left of Fort Mercer. Some gang rode in an' took the place over."

"So I understand," John replied, gravely.

"This is where we part ways, friend...you have yourself a _goood_ time!" With a dry chuckle, Jake turned his horse and rode back down the trail.

John sat there on his horse for a moment, and considered the odd and terrible chain of events that had led him to this moment. He had thought he was free of this life. Though Dutch and the boys had left him for dead, he wasn't as bitter about it as he could have been. He had used it as a way out, after all. His greatest fear was that his life...his _choices_...would endanger those closest to him, namely Abigail and Jack. Damned if that isn't exactly what happened, in the end. Seems there was no escaping his past. He had truly hoped to never set eyes on any of the old gang again. But if it came down to Bill or his own kin...he didn't really have a choice, did he?

He slipped off the horse, and cautiously started walking towards the front gate. He didn't have any plan ready, but he was hoping that Bill would listen to reason. John had matured, after all, perhaps Bill had as well? Bill was never the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was loyal, and in the early days, he seemed to look up to John.

Bill and John had spent a few months together when John first broke out of the orphanage, before they were picked up by Dutch. They had looked out for each other, with Bill as the muscle and John as the brains. They had probably saved each other at least once or twice, back then. One time, John almost fell off the back of a train car. He would have landed between the cars and disappeared under the wheels if Bill hadn't grabbed his foot at the last second. Another time, an angry pimp would have put a knife in Bill's back if John hadn't shot him in the neck from across the saloon. Those times seemed like ages ago...as if they had happened to someone else in some history book. Were their feet destined to bring them to this place, at this time, even back then? Somewhere far in the distance, a cougar's cry rang out. Even further away, wolves began to howl.

Finally, he reached the entrance; a set of large, wooden doors, flanked by a pair of torches.

"_**BILL**_...Bill, I've _come_ for you!" John shouted up at the gate, scanning the top of the wall for signs of life. "_Bill Williamson_! Come out here, right _**now**_!"

A familiar voice answered from above, "Go away _NOW_, John! Don't make me kill you!"

"Nobody needs to kill anyone, Bill."

Bill finally showed himself, stepping out from behind an arch that rested atop the gate. He looked down at John, with baleful, yellow eyes, and cocked the rifle in his hands. "You must think I was born yesterday. You always did think I was an _IDIOT_!" Bill growled at him.

"That ain't fair, Bill. You were as my brother. I've come to try to save you."

Bill laughed sarcastically as two of his henchmen also stepped out from behind cover, each also armed with a rifle. "Do I look like I need saving?"

"Bill, _please_...they want to kill us all! I can help you!"

"You can't save _M_E, John! Without the Master, we're all doomed, don't you see? Still, I think I can see to my own without any interfering from you! The Master has made me stronger...in ways you could never guess."

"Master? Bill, I _implore_ you think about this!"

"Ha, ha! You implore _me_? You _implore_ me...you always were one for fancy words! Well things are different now, John! I implores _you_ to go back, and tell them in the Cabal to send someone just a little bit more impressive next time."

Shit...seems it wasn't going to be easy, after all. If Bill wasn't going to come on his own, then John would just have to shoot him down from there.

"Well..." John began, then reached for his revolver. Much quicker than John would have thought possible, Bill brought his rifle to bear and fired.

Getting hit with a bullet feels like being kicked by a mule with red hot hooves. The bullet entered John's chest, and the force knocked him to the dusty ground. He gasped for air as he felt his blood pumping out of the hole in his side. Almost instantly, he began to lose consciousness.

_I'm _sorry, _Abby_..._Jack_..._I was stupid_...he thought to himself as his vision started to blur. He heard Bill laughing from the gate, and it sounded as if he were underwater.

"_Poor John_..._leave him for the cougars_..."

...and with that, everything went dark.


	6. Woman's Intuition

_Chaos_...a jumble of images and half-heard sounds...shot through with bolts of _pain_...

John found himself standing outside Beecher's Hope. It seemed to be night, but the sky was a dark, dark red, and clouds...the color of dried blood...raced across the starless void. A huge, baleful moon hung in the sky. At least, he thought it was the moon...until it _blinked_. The ground under his feet felt unnatural, as if he was standing on some kind of shuddering, twitching beast. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a cougar. It looked at him with glowing eyes, tipped its top hat in his direction, and complimented him on his taste in horses.

Behind him, he heard voices, though he couldn't make out the words...it sounded as if he was under water. He turned and saw Abigail and Jack, standing motionless...just staring at him. As he reached out to touch them, they disintegrated and blew away, like ashes in a sudden breeze.

Fear and nausea welled up inside John's gut, and he was staggered by a intense weariness. It was as if a huge weight was crushing down on him. The oppressive vertigo, pain and heat slowly began to fade, though, and he felt himself sliding downward...downward to oblivion.

Then, he heard a final voice...that of a young child...a girl...

"_Papa_...you_ have _to stay, Papa..._please_, save Mama and Jack..._you have to stay_..."

...

John opened his eyes with a start, and tried to get up, but gasped out in pain. The light, though very dim, was momentarily blinding to his eyes. Through the haze, he saw that he was in a cabin that he didn't recognize, lying in a cot. Off to his left, the door slowly opened, letting in more light.

"Well, you're _alive_," an unfamiliar woman's voice said.

"So it would seem," he croaked in response. Groggily, he raised himself up and looked over to the open door. The woman who entered the cabin certainly looked familiar.

"So, how do you feel?"

"I don't know the polite word for it."

"I do..._'stupid_' is the word we use around here. What were you doing?"

"I was..._ugghh_...doin' something stupid."

"Well, you'll be okay. It was touch and go there for a while, but once you didn't die, the doctor said you'd be fine...though you did have a pretty bad fever there. Doc got the bullets out a couple days ago."

John just grunted in response.

"Anyway...it cost us fifteen dollars."

"I'm sorry, Madame...you should have left me there to die."

"Did you want to die? I mean...it that _it_? Why you went strait out to Fort Mercer and picked a fight with that...that..._monster_? Mister..._err_..."

"Mr. _Marston_...John Marston."

"Bonnie MacFarlane..._MISS_ Bonnie MacFarlane"

"Well, you may be right, Miss MacFarlane...I don't know." For the first time, John noticed that, except for the bandages across his torso, he was naked under his covers.

"Miss MacFarlane...have you seen my _clothes_?"

"I have...right over on the table, Mr. Marston. You didn't expect us to let you lie there for several days in your own filth, did you? Besides, I had to keep changing those bandages."

"_You_ changed them?"

"Oh, come now, Mr. Marston...I grew up in a household of menfolk. No need to be shy. Though I must say, you do have your fair share of scars on you."

"Well, just the same, could I have a bit of privacy to get myself dressed? I think I can manage that by myself now."

With a wry smile, Bonnie closed the door. John got unsteadily to his feet and gathered his things. As he moved around, the stiffness worked its way out of his muscles. The lady certainly knew how to dress a wound, he noted. When he finished and finally placed his hat on, he opened the door and joined her on the small deck of the shed.

"So, what _were_ you doing?" Bonnie continued.

"Trying to give Mr. Williamson a chance," John replied wearily, "for old time's sake."

"You knew _Bill Williamson_?"

"_Knew_ him...long time ago..."

"Well, what was he like?"

"Dumb..."

"Just like you," Bonnie interjected.

"Thank you, miss" John said, tipping his hat. It finally dawned on him where he had seen her.

"I saw you on the train, didn't I?"

"Yeah...down in Armadillo. I heard you had something to do with all that commotion at the saloon. Seems commotion likes to follow you around, Mr. Marston."

John chuckled humorlessly, "That it does, Miss MacFarlane...but usually I just seem to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just lucky, I guess."

"Is that so? Well, uhh...what will you do now?"

"Now, I'm gonna take my time and go after him in a less kind way."

"Oh, that sounds very fun...quite _heroic_, just like in those Penny Dreadfuls my brother used to read. But you'll need more than '_luck_', I fear. Meanwhile, if you'll excuse me, I've got a ranch to run. Of course, if you feel better, why not take a ride with me and help me patrol the perimeter? You can earn back some of that money we wasted on doctor's bills."

"Thank you...I'll do that...and thank you for saving my life. By the way, what were _you_ doing out there? How did you even know to come save me?"

"Let's just call it _woman's intuition_, shall we?" Bonnie said with a small smile, as she headed off to the large ranch house.

...

Once inside and back up in her room, Bonnie took a cedar box out of drawer in her vanity table. Laying it on top of the table, she opened the box and took out an ornate deck of cards wrapped in a silk cloth. After giving the deck a quick shuffle, she drew two cards and laid them down as well...the _Fool_ and the_ Tower_. With a sigh, she glanced out her window, in the direction of John's cabin.

"A _lot_ more than just luck, Mr. Marston..."

* * *

Thanks for the reviews...it's always nice to get encouragement. Even constructive critisism will be appreciated. I used a lot of the original dialog this time, but interjected some stuff I thought just made a bit more sense (I mean, John wore those clothes lying there for _**days**_? They never needed to change his old bandages?). Yeah, there's more to this version of Bonnie than meets the eye, but don't expect her to turn anyone into a toad or anything like that. So, I'll try to update more frequently...and more reviews wouldn't hurt!


	7. Marshals and Undertakers

After getting something to eat and drink, John did ride with Bonnie on patrol, gaining a quick tour of the MacFarlane ranch at the same time. Quite a nice operation, he noted...clearly the McFarlanes had put many years of hard work into it. It was the first time John had ever seen a ranch with its own jail, general store and train station. An exceptionally large barn lay nearly in the center of the ranch. The sides of the barn sported several colorful, circular designs filled with geometric patterns.

"That's the_ barn_, over there. Pa built it himself when I was just a little girl."

"What are those designs painted on the side?" John asked.

"Oh, those are _hex signs_. Back when my father first built the barn, he had some help from a group of Pennsylvania Dutch settlers who moved out here from back East. Seems they thought putting those up would help ward off bad luck or something."

"Have they worked?"

"I asked my pa that one day, after we lost a good bit of the herd to some rustlers," Bonnie replied, wistfully. "Now, my pa's a very practical man...not one for mumbo-jumbo or such...but he said, _'who can say, perhaps we'd have lost them all if they weren't there_'. Besides, a little superstition can be a good thing around these parts, Mr. Marston. Not everything is always as it seems, or as science or the Good Book would have us believe."

John nodded at this, thinking back to the events of the last few weeks.

"You don't have to convince me of _that_, Miss MacFarlane."

She looked over her shoulder at him.

"Good...that's good...perhaps you're not as dumb as I thought."

He grinned in response and shrugged.

"How about a cold drink, Mr. Marston?"

"Thank you, ma'am. Getting shot then riding a horse seems to take it out of you. I could use a rest."

Bonnie laughed and motioned to the door of the main house, "Sure, come on in. I'll show you the house, and then you can sit for a while."

"Thank you."

After partaking of Bonnie's hospitality, John later helped her keep watch on the property line that evening. Bonnie even let John borrow a fine rifle. They were able to chase off some rabbits from the garden, and even a few coyotes that tried to make off with some of the chickens.

"You know, you can actually handle a rifle" Bonnie commented with some admiration, as she rode with John to his cabin.

"It's something I've had a little experience in," John replied.

"Maybe Bill Williamson_ did _get lucky, after all."

"Luck didn't really come into it, miss."

"You're a useful man to have around the ranch, that's for sure, but don't think I've forgotten what brought you here. We'll do whatever we can to help you."

"I sure appreciate that, Miss MacFarlane."

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Marston," Bonnie said, as John hitched up his horse. "Makes me kind of happy I saved your life. Get some sleep and I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Miss MacFarlane."

John entered the cabin and went directly to bed. He was quite tired, and his wound still took a bit out of him. As he drifted off to sleep, he heard some of the ranch hands talking and laughing around the fire just outside. The MacFarlane ranch seemed like a real nice place, and he considered it the first good thing that had happened to him in some time, gaining these folks as allies.

…

In the chambers of the Cabal, Nephilos stood over a large stone table, upon which was carved an intricate, detailed map of the New Austin region. Mystic sigils were also carved around the edges of the table, and a small, silver planchet was almost imperceptibly moving by itself over a tiny mark labeled "MacFarlane Ranch". He smiled to himself as his associate, Saraphel, strode into the room, a glass of wine clutched in his hand.

"So, has your cat's paw finally got up off his dusty little...death bed?" Saraphel drawled, taking a sip of his no doubt very expensive vintage.

"Yes...yes he has. For a moment there I feared we had overestimated his abilities, but he appears to be made of slightly sterner stuff. I hear we have you to thank, at least in part, for Marston pulling through?"

Saraphel have a slightly drunken titter and then spoke in the voice of a little girl.

"_Papa...please, save Mama and Jack_!"

He laughed to himself some more, gave a little bow, then flopped into a nearby leather chair.

"You know, dreams and sendings are my _forte_, as it were. I'd like to see the strapping Mr. Marston have another go at it, as well. It seems it was his pesky morals that made him so sloppy. I think he's much more likely now to face the ordeals he has ahead of him with a more, shall we say, _practical_ demeanor."

"Yes," Nephilos agreed, turning his attention back to the planchet. "Nearly dying will do that to a man."

…

The next day, Bonnie brought up the idea of seeing the Marshal in Armadillo. Apparently, he had already expressed an interest in speaking with John as well. Since she had to get some supplies anyway, she suggested John accompany her into town. As they drove, the topic of Bonnie's upbringing came up.

"Many years ago we did briefly employ a French governess...well, I _think_ she was French...she said she was French, but she spoke Russian. She also claimed to have Romany blood...you know, a _gypsy_. She taught me how to read the cards."

"Read the cards? Like playing poker?" John asked.

"No! Like..._fortune telling _and such."

"Ah...so you know the past and can see the future, eh?" John laughed.

"Well, it doesn't actually work like _that_," Bonnie said, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed, "but I can tell you it does give me some pretty good insights into people, and of what might happen."

"But so can a dose of common sense...and you seem to have that, too." John replied, "So...have you looked into _my_ future?"

"No," she lied, "not really. I think you've got a destiny, though. Something you're going to do...something_ important_."

"I hope my only destiny is to grow old with my loved ones."

He looked over at her, but noticed she wouldn't meet his eyes. They road on in silence until they reached the town.

"So this is Armadillo. Manhattan it is _not_...but it does okay for us. The most important thing for you right now is to get yourself to Dr. Johnson's office to purchase some medicine. The first one's on me."

"Thank you, miss. I'll pay you back."

"I'm sure you shall. The doc's a good fellow. He saved your life, so be polite to him. Meet me in front of the general store when you're done."

The doctor's office was small, but neat and fairly clean. John noted a gunsmith was located just two doors down from the doc's place. He'd definitely have to stop by there when he had some money in his pocket. With a dark amber bottle of medicine in his hand, John returned to the general store. Bonnie was leaning against a post, waiting for him.

"Well, thanks for driving me. It was nice to be able to enjoy the view for once, and a little company never hurts now and again." she said, as she hoisted herself up into the driver's seat of the wagon.

"You're more than welcome, miss...it's the least I can do. Thank you for the medicine."

"Why don't you have a look around Armadillo? You can always take the stage coach back to the ranch later."

"I might just do that, miss."

"_Try_ not to get shot," Bonnie added, as she goaded the horses with the reigns, "I might not be around to save you later."

With that, Bonnie drove off in the direction off in the direction of the ranch, leaving John standing in the middle of the dusty main street.

John looked over at the saloon, and considered getting a whiskey. Most of the windows had been replaced already, he noticed. If the events of that night had affected the town at all, it was certainly hard to notice it. Men and women were bustling here and there about their business as normal. Since his funds were so low, he decided to forgo getting a drink, and just go straight out and meet with the marshal, as Bonnie suggested.

Entering the dark, dingy sheriff's office, John noted one of the cell doors was open and contained a loudly snoring, weasel-faced man who wore what seemed to be a silvery badge.

"_Excused me_!" John called out.

"Hey..._HEY_! You got a visitor!" prodded a man in a locked, neighboring cell.

The sleeper awoke with a start and spit on the floor.

"Shut up, _YOU_!" he said to the prisoner, then looked over at John. "...and what _you_ want?"

"My name's John Marston...you wanted to speak to me."

"I _did_?"

"Apparently so..."

"Why?"

"I guess because we're both in the business of the law. Look, are you the marshal or not?"

The man grunted and gave a half laugh. "Naw...I guess you're lookin' for Leigh Johnson. Well, he ain't here...he's probably over at his '_parlor_'."

"Parlor?"

"Yup...he's not just the marshal, he's also the town undertaker," the weasel-faced man said, spitting again on the filthy floor. "Look behind the saloon. I hear he got another 'client' in just this morning."

* * *

_Thanks for the reviews! Love getting them. Hope this chapter is okay. If I skip something that happens in the game (such as John and Bonnie's horse race, or most of the conversation on the wagon trip to Armadillo), just assume the events proceed as normal. I don't see the need to just post a transcript of the game if I'm not going to make any appreciable alterations to a scene. I will be placing in bits here and there (such as John and Bonnie's conversation before/after he picks up the medicine) to anchor the story to the core game, though. Didn't want anyone to think I was trying to pass that off as my own._

_I also see that a downloadable pack called "Undead Nightmare Pack" will soon be available from Rockstar! Included will be "ghost towns and cemeteries hosting zombified humans"! Turns out my AU isn't so AU after all!_


End file.
